This is the least perfect of Kierkegaard’s books I have yet read. Imperfect in the way Either/Or is imperfect — but Either/Or is so much more abundant in its imperfection, the imperfection is less noticable in the general tidal wave of words and thoughts. Fear and Trembling, written about the same time, is much more captivating and profound. Repetition is a little too painfully, awkwardly transparent in its relation to SK’s broken engagement.

Nevertheless much excellent unmatchable Kierkegaard here: The failure of repetition in the aesthetic and ethical spheres. The initimation of a religious repetition. Tangential discussion of the ideal and accidental in farce. Job’s ordeal, Job’s loss, his refusal to give in, his demand for a hearing with God — and finally repetition’s paradox: his repentance and vindication, both.

I started listening to Dylan in 1982 when a Mormon friend of mine — who was leaving on his mission year and was unloading material possessions — gave me his cassette of The Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan. I loved it, listened to it constantly, and before too long made my way to the used record store where I laid hands on The Greatest Hits (volumes I and II) and then the more recent gospel records: Slow Train Coming, Saved, and Shot of Love. I was transfixed by all of it, and the gospel records chimed in with the C.S. Lewis I’d started reading about that time to knock me upside my Zen-Beatnik-Lutheran-syncretist head. Which eventually led to the Catholic Church and thence to this blog and other strange places.

So now a quarter of a century later some real gospel singers get together and try out those Dylan songs again and they hold up well. I bought the CD when it came out, and it’s good, but the documentary about the making of the record is really even better than the record itself — because it’s the first documentary, to my knowledge, to really treat this period of Dylan’s career in any depth at all. It’s a phenomenal thing that deserves to be studied as much as Dylan’s early career and the transition to electricity (which is great stuff to be sure but it’s been hashed over plenty). Anyway, if you’ve got Netflix, go there and stream this baby … cause I’m hangin’ on … to a solid rock!

On this meatless Friday, I thought I’d send us over the edge – into dreams of Saturday morning bacon and/or steak and eggs…

From the top, then – we have Mallard and Wood duck sauteed in onions, apples, taters, bacon and who knows all what (afterwards, a little red wine, a little flour made a dandy sauce for it); then we stop briefly to behold the Brown basmati – topped the same said sauce treatment; then at the bottom we have squirrel cooked up in a white sauce of apples, taters and more whatnot for the tongue; and finally, the Grandest Master Flash in the Pan of Them All: Three Roasted Chinese Pheasants slabbed and stuffed with bacon. All went with a malbec and tuns of Hamms and Schlitz.

Number one son provided one of the three pheasants – bagged it on his first time out with a neighbor (who bagged the other two). Ducks and squirrel were provided by this guy:

John Motoviloff – who wrote this and this and this and this– and graciously agreed to be the token Russian Orthodox at Gerasene 11 (he’s been writing fiction for a long time now).

Did I already mention the great camping and sporting opportunities in Wisconsin?

Born in Clifton, near Bristol, the youngest son of Augustus William Summers, a prosperous banker and Justice of the Peace, he was educated at Clifton College and at Trinity College, Oxford, and then at Lichfield Theological College. His first post as a curate was at Bitton, near Bristol, but he was obliged to resign after being accused of interfering with the choirboys, although no charges were ever brought. In 1909, he converted to the Roman Catholic church, added “Alphonsus Joseph-Mary” to his list of names, and claimed to have been ordained as a priest, although his name never appeared on the clergy lists of Great Britain, and he celebrated the Mass only in private in his own country, although he performed the sacraments in public whilst abroad. From 1911 until 1926, he made a living by teaching English and Latin at a number of schools; but, in the latter year, he resigned from Brockley School to become a full-time writer. His first book, a collection of his poems, had appeared in 1907. He went on to write sixteen more, most of which reflect his interest in the occult. His best-remembered book is “Witchcraft and Black Magic” (1946), but others bear titles such as “The Vampire: His Kith and Kin”, “The Vampire in Europe”, and “The Werewolf.” Summers was a close friend of Aleister Crowley; there is a vivid and memorable description of him in C.R. Cammell’s biography of the Beast. Another of Summers’ interests was Restoration drama. In 1914, he founded the Shakespeare Head Press, which re-printed many plays of the seventeenth century, along with his own prefaces; and, in 1919, he founded the Phoenix Society for the Production of Old Plays, for which he supervised the production of eighteen plays, as well as of a complete cycle of William Congreve’s works. In “Who’s Who”, Summers gave among his recreations: “Travel; staying in unknown monasteries and villages in Italy; pilgrimages to famous shrines; the investigation of occult phenomena; ghost stories; talking to intelligent dogs, that is, all dogs.” He died suddenly at his house at Dynevor Road in Richmond. When Hector Stuart-Forbes, who had been his secretary for many years, died two years later, he was buried in the same grave. For many years, it was unmarked; but, on the November 26, 1988, a tombstone was erected, bearing the inscription, “Tell me strange things”, which is what Summers invariably said on meeting a new acquaintance. – from Summers’ biographical entry at findagrave.com.

Now it seems our friend Ms. Speed has gotten round to scrutinizing Exiles, too, and has posted her own sagacious and succinct (children sent outside so she can hammer it out) review. Well done, Dorian!

Let’s talk celestial alignment. Though music. Through athletics. My sister is Tori Amos. I’m Corey Amos. When you see Tori writhing on the piano bench and there’s a lot of histrionics, I’m pretty sure I know what you think you think, but really you don’t have the emotional aptitude to fully get it or enjoy it. What she’s really doing is recalibrating the universe via her instrument and her passion, and that’s what I do at shortstop. What you judge as a colossal error—like the ball skittering through my legs and winding up in left field—is something much deeper than that. There are larger forces at play, dancing with one another, only you’re probably too stunted by Western propaganda to realize the beauty and grace of it all. You’ve been trained only to watch iCarly on your iPad.